HaNa Officetel 1104
121-854
Ma-Po Gu
Shin-Su Dong
22-35
Seoul
Korea

Dear Granny,

March 4th 2003
I was awoken at about 3 o’clock this morning with a terrible pain stretching from the back of my head to the edges of my shoulders and round across my chest. It slowly got worse until I could no longer move. I was forced to lie completely flat on my back, pillowless, and wait it out. Luckily for me, some 12 hours later, it eased off.

I have put the experience down to my working so hard over the last few days. I have been putting in at least 5 hours a day. After our 10 week Christmas holiday, this must have been too much for my poor body to handle. Well, I took the day off today and only have a 2 and a half hour day tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Though I have only been working 5 hours a day at most, I have been worrying for the other 19. The university gave me a couple of lecture courses. One of these, it turns out, has eighty students in it.
The subject of the lectures is British History and Culture, the culture part I think I could pull off but I’ve been terrified about the history. I remember so little from school that I couldn’t swear we ever did history. I remember covering WW2. That though is solely because we repeated it every year. I’m now being asked to work my way from prehistory i.e., the Celts and Romans etc, through all those kings, queens, wars, and revolutions I’ve never heard of, up to the present day, 3 times a week, an hour at a time, for 16 weeks.

My first lecture is tomorrow. I wrote 10 pages of notes on the geography of the British Isles and a little something on the Weather. I am truly scared I am not all doomy and gloomy though. We managed to fit a short trip to Japan into our last month before starting back at work. It was wonderful and it is that I’d like to talk about in some detail.

Arriving at the newly built and rather magnificent Kansai airport on a little Island outside of Osaka we ran into a little trouble. We’d decided to go to Japan on the spur of the moment. We’d bought tickets just a couple of days before we left, we are both such confident travelers now that we didn’t bother looking into accommodation or any other such nonsense. We didn’t have a guidebook, a map, instructions, nothing. So when they asked me, at immigration, where I was spending the night, I said, quite serenely, that I didn’t have a clue and gave him one of my winning smiles.

He said, rather more bluntly, that in that case, I couldn’t come in. I shrank a couple of inches in height. Looking over to Heidi’s queue; I couldn’t see her. I looked over and past immigration and saw that she had got through, but she wasn’t looking in my direction. I told the guy that someone had let my girlfriend through and that she didn’t know where she was staying either. I think I was secretly hoping a team of security guards would pounce on her and drag her back to my side of the line. He just shrugged and pointed to an information desk at the back of the room.

I eventually got Heidi’s attention and shouted over to her, asking what she had said to the customs officer. She said she told them she was staying in a youth hostel and that that was fine. So I rushed back to Herr Hikomoto, and breathlessly said the word ‘youth-hostel’ as if it was a secret password. He eyed me dubiously and asked if I had their phone-number or address. I considered inventing a phone number but didn’t know how many digits it ought to have. Instead, I said I was sorry, admitted that I hadn’t quite finalized the arrangements yet but this didn’t seem to be a problem for my girlfriend who had been let through. He pointed back to the information desk, more impatiently this time, and told me I had to make a hotel reservation over there. This was bad news, as we couldn’t afford hotels.

I wandered over to the desk and explained the situation. They said, I had to book a hotel room. I explained again that Heidi had got through; rather bizarrely they started giggling, and then suggested I try the queue she had been in. At that moment flight K45… something or other arrived from the Philippines and 400 scantily dressed girls got into my queue. The queue next to it was nearly empty but these girls weren’t for moving. Rumors of the liberal customs officer must have spread beyond Japanese shores.

I joined the back of the queue again, completely outraged, to put it mildly. The brightly coloured girls in front all had ‘entertainer’ written on their flight cards and were staying for 6 months. It was taking the woman an age to process each one. At one point one of the women from the information desk came over. I got her attention and asked if maybe I could go to the front of the queue. She failed to recognize me from our encounter just minutes before, laughed and shook her head. To top it all off some other officers were on the prowl, as our uncollected luggage had raised some kind of security alert in the baggage collection section.

I finally got to the front of the queue an hour later and said ‘youth-hostel’ again. The lady smiled, stamped my passport and let me through. Security then led us to our baggage, which they had fired through a canon into the sea for its safe disposal. Welcome to Japan.

I don’t recall exactly why, but we had somehow decided that finding accommodation was going to be my job. Still dazed from the customs incident, I barely noticed that Heidi had decided to let me off. She somehow got a phone number for a youth hostel from the closed information desk (it was 9.45pm), and was making a call. That led to another call, then to another, then she hung up, said we were staying in a football stadium and that we needed to find out where it was. We had 1 hour 15 minutes to find it. Otherwise we were buggered.

If you don’t have a very good guidebook in Japan you’re in serious trouble. As I mentioned, we didn’t. All the maps around the airport were written in the various Japanese alphabets, all the signs too; unlike Seoul where everything is translated into English and if it isn’t we can read their alphabet anyway. It was incredibly frustrating being so helpless. Despite all this though, and with the help of many Japanese people we found our way.

We arrived at the football stadium at 11:02 and then realized that this was, in fact, a football stadium and that there was no sign that said ‘please sleep over there’. We asked a lady and were led into a shady park. The park surrounded the stadium and though it was a little creepy it had a refreshingly damp feel to it. Seoul is brutally dry in winter. The lady took us about half of the way around the stadium and pointed into what looked like a tradesman’s entrance. She buzzed the buzzer, spoke to the speaker and told us to go to the third floor.

I was starving, but as this was a youth hostel, we weren’t allowed out again. We bought a couple of rubbish pot noodles from a machine and sat down sulking. I also took advantage of the beer machine. There are machines dispensing beer everywhere in Japan. When we’d slurped up the last strings of our pathetic supper we slept.

I don’t like youth hostels, all that touchy-feely communal nonsense. It cost us about 50 quid for that night. 50 quid! What is the bloody point of a youth hostel if it costs 50 quid for a room with no shower and no bed? Really, there was no bed! There were a few blankets masquerading as a futon in one of the wardrobes but we didn’t find those for a while. I thought I was going to have to sleep on Heidi.
Next morning, we got up at 7.30, ate our breakfast and ran for the hills. Goodbye Osaka.

First stop was Nara. A friend had advised us that Nara was a great place to spend a day. He had also said that there was a golden temple somewhere; I couldn’t remember exactly where, but Nara sounded familiar. We decided to spend the day there and move onto Kyoto later in the afternoon.

The landscape leaving Osaka was grim. Mile upon mile of seemingly unplanned constructions all slotted tightly into place, just the sort of thing we were hoping to escape. It was also raining. The rain was a lot like the rain at home, half-arsed but unrelenting. The buildings did eventually thin out though, and after a while, sunbeams pierced the thick fug. Although the place wasn’t beautiful, it had charm. Attractive little houses started to appear and every street seemed to have it’s own little bike track.

The area around Nara station is a god-awful mess. We thought our friend had lost his mind suggesting we go to such a place. His sanity is sometimes questionable so we considered getting a ticket straight back out of there.

Of course we didn’t do that. We went to the tourist information office and asked what we ought to see. They gave us a little yellow map and pointed us in the direction of the shrines. The golden temple wasn’t on the map so I assumed correctly that I’d confused cities.

We spent the nicest day of the trip wandering from shrine to shrine, marveling at all the history. Nara was the oldest capital of Japan and once you leave the new part of the city, it is stunning. Getting to the main shrine (Kasuga grand shrine) involved a long walk through a deer enclosure. That was a lot of fun as the deer were all extremely tame. Heidi offered one of the little ones some nuts; once it had had its fill it started chewing on her mid-riff. There were signs throughout the park with illustrations warning you not to feed the baby deer as the mummies would feel upset (or perhaps angry, though the expression it wore indicated otherwise).

After walking around for about 4 hours we headed back into town for something to eat. We got a bit lost on the way back and got to explore some of the more residential areas. I remember neat compact houses, old-fashioned bicycles and stylish little cars, everything in the very best taste. It had a feel of Switzerland.

My lunch was a disaster. I spent ages looking through all the pictures on the menu in a cheap noodle bar (they were difficult to make out). Heidi ordered a nice soup and some rice topped with fish. I ordered a blob of mayonnaise with a chilled raw egg on top. I left it all and made a quick dash for the McDonalds across the street. I’ve had McDonalds food in over 10 Countries and it is the only time anywhere that the food has tasted different. The coke was sweeter. The burger was saltier and more artificial. It was fantastic. Even the packaging was better.

That evening we caught the train to Kyoto. We got to the tourist information in the station 15 minutes before it closed. The man that worked there was useless so gave us directions to another office. Well, he pointed vaguely toward Kyoto tower. We ran through the rain and to where we thought he meant. It wasn’t there. We ran around like fools for a minute asking random people in the street. One guy walked us to the office door. We had 2 minutes before closing. ‘No more youth hostels!’ I demanded.

As it was off-season we got a deal on a hotel room. It was 2 thirds the price of the youth hostel. Score!
We had our own bathroom thank god. In the youth hostel I’d been forced to expose myself to strangers for the first time in years. The system they have involves squatting on a tiny stool filling a little bucket with hot water and giving yourself a scrub. Then once clean, getting into a communal bath. I had very quickly splashed a bit of water on myself, washed my hair and snuck out, facing the wall in a semi crouch at all times so no-one could get an eyeful. I’d skipped the bath altogether.

Our first day in Kyoto was bad. It was freezing and I had put myself in charge. I led us straight to a park with nothing in it. Then onto a bus heading toward a temple, missed the stop, and ended up miles from the city. It was raining heavily and the cheap ‘cat-women’ type black plastic umbrella I had bought for a pound in Nara could only shelter one of each our shoulders in any single moment. Heidi was unimpressed.
We later happened upon a little restaurant run by an old couple. That was the highlight of the day I think. It was a tiny place and we were the only ones in there. We huddled around their little gas fire, slowly drying off. It was the only time I had sushi during the whole trip I’m ashamed to say. It was good and it came with a hot noodle soup. The proprietress was very eager for us to get the soup down. I imagined it had special recuperative properties, and drank it all up.

Later we went out for a drink. I got quite drunk off just 1 beer (honest). In fact when we returned to the hotel I was so jolly that I went to the public bath and tried the actual bath. My ears were ringing from all the suds I’d sunk and I felt a bit dizzy. A couple of Russians left as I entered and I had the place to myself. I got the washing thing out of the way as quickly as possible. I plunged my foot in the bath. I all but fainted. I assumed it was a mistake and went back to my little stool.

I then started to think about all the baths I’ve had where you keep the hot tap running after you’ve got in and how much you could theoretically stand.
I went back to the bath and, millimeter-by-millimeter, I got in. Feet, ankles, shins, knees… shoulders. It never got any easier. When I was fully submerged the only way I could avoid the ferocious scolding pain was to remain completely immobile. If I moved any part of my body, even slightly, it returned. I sat like this for about 2 minutes before I couldn’t take any more. I hoisted myself out, wincing in agony, and collapsed on the side like a dead frog. When I finally got back to our room, face the colour of strawberries; Heidi said ‘isn’t it wonderful?’ I said goodnight.

Next day. Hikone. Pronounced hick-oh-nay. We were going off to see the golden temple. A magical place completely covered in gold leaf, situated in a leafy park behind a beautiful lake. I couldn’t wait.
The problem was that when we finally arrived in Hikone and I asked at the tourist office where this magical place was the lady said she didn’t know what I was talking about. Our friend had definitely mentioned a golden temple and he had definitely mentioned Hikone. Maybe it wasn’t in the same sentence though. If only we’d had a guidebook we could have checked.

The day was far from wasted though as there is an impressive castle in Hikone. One of the very few that isn’t a reproduction. It was built in 1622, and you can wander round inside it. It was a sunny day and the views of and from the castle were impressive. We took 2 rolls of film. I wasted loads of shots following this bird of prey around with our telephoto lens. If anyone would like a picture with a blurry silhouette of a bird in it let me know. I also captured a small child blinking, two wizened old ladies chattering and a tile.

We had to take our shoes off when we went into the castle (we had to do this at most shrines, temples, palaces and castles). At Zenrin-ji Temple in Kyoto we weren’t provided with slippers. It was a freezing cold day and we half ran around the thing so we could get back to our warm shoes.

I think I started writing this a couple of weeks ago. I couldn’t finish it, so I abandoned it. One advantage to this though is that I can say how that lecture went.
I felt vaguely tense throughout the night preceding and the hours leading up to the class. Though I wasn’t as scared as I thought I’d be as I walked toward the classroom. There were students waiting for me outside with slips of paper, wanting to join the course. I signed them and fought my way in. The classroom was not big enough for all the students, so they were bringing chairs in from other classrooms. The students seemed unhappy at being crammed so tightly together. It took 5 or 10 minutes for them all to settle.

I drew a shoddy image of the British Isles on the board and proceeded to explain all about its different elements. I talked about the land, the people and the weather… I got quite carried away and stopped using my lecture notes. I only used half of what I’d written by the end. It was a breeze. I cracked some funnies and had them all laughing, the atmosphere was casual and friendly; so much so that they were happy to shout out questions (quite rare with the Korean students). At the end of the class tons more students approached me with there slips of paper asking if they could be officially accepted on the course. I signed 10 or so like a rock star signing autographs after a concert, and strutted back to my office, dizzy from the adrenaline.

Later that day word got to Heidi, through one of her students, that the new English professor was, and I quote, ‘really popular’ and ‘so intelligent and handsome’. I invented a little song to celebrate. It went like this – ‘I am famous, I am famous, I am f, f, f, f, f, f, famous!!!’ over and over again until Heidi slapped me firmly in the face and I shut up.

On reflection I wasn’t feeling all that jubilant. This revelation began to make me nervous again as I had set the bar too high with the first class and it could all come crashing down around me. Everywhere I went over the next few days, groups of girls would come over all swoonsome as I passed, giggling helplessly into cupped hands. The courageous ones would wave or shout out ‘Professor Weaver!’ This doesn’t just happen on campus. It has happened whilst shopping, in restaurants and just out walking. I walked the 10 minutes from our nearest supermarket home the other day and was stopped 4 times. Twice, a guy has grabbed my arm as I’ve passed and bowed deeply as I turned to face him. I never recognize these people. My classes are too big. I have 240 students in total. I am a celebrity.

My next lecture class was on the ‘beaker people’. I’d never heard of them the day before the class. They were Bronze Age types, pre-Celts, they distinguished themselves by making beakers. How I stretched this gem of information over an hour, I have no idea, but by the end the students were distinctly less rapturous than they had been the class before. I remember taking some time drawing a beaker in the board for the benefit of those unfamiliar with such things. My pathetic picture probably confused those that weren’t. I had similar problems with the next class too.

By the third or fourth class things were falling apart a bit. I decided I needed to improve things for the class on the Romans. I spent a good long time researching and writing related anecdotes into the lecture so as to keep their attention. The next morning, in horror, I realised that I was nearly a week behind with the content of the course. I had been using a confusing syllabus passed down by the previous professor. I realised I had 1 class to get through the Romans, the Anglo-Saxons, and the Viking invasions. I scrapped all my hard work from the day before, took the textbook and with my highlighter pen I quickly read through 30 pages of the book turning anything that looked like it may be significant fluorescent yellow. I couldn’t take in what I was reading. I was reading too fast.

When I got to the classroom I was frantic. All in a tizzy. Sweaty palmed, I fumbled for my book. I looked out over the sea of black heads; I wanted to die. Students were tussling over seats again, they looked downcast. Then commenced an excruciating hour of what I can best describe as spluttering and splirting. Facts and figures came out in the wrong order, I confused countries and events, skipped centuries of information, backtracked, wrote words on the board then forgot to define what they meant. It was awful. I went bright red at least 10 times. I left as quickly as I could and rushed toward my office; I buried my head in my hands and waited for my heart beat to regulate itself again.

Since that terrible experience I’ve been having nightmares about being unprepared for things. Holidays, plays, lectures; anything that requires preparation. I find myself at the airport without my trousers, on stage with no knowledge of the script or worst of all back in that class telling them that Wales is in Scotland and the Romans lived on top of the Beaker People.

I’m doing the Norman invasion tomorrow and I know everything there is to know. I have read and read, I have watched the same documentary 3 times and I will not screw up. Please, don’t let me screw up!
Back to Japan. Did I happen to mention that we had a toilet seat heater in our hotel room? I took great pleasure turning it up to the max whilst sitting on it and waiting till it was too hot to take. We also had a little Japanese tea set and a flask of hot water provided. I thoroughly enjoyed myself making cup after cup of green tea then forcing Heidi to drink them all up.

I had found out for certain that the golden temple was in Kyoto. I was really excited about finally seeing it. It was our last morning and we were flying at 1 so we got up super early, packed, left our rucksacks at reception and caught a bus to the site. It was miserable outside, both windy and rainy, the sky was like cement. The bus took ages, and by the time we got there we were both a bit glum. The driver pointed to where we needed to go.

As we approached we noticed some kind of a commotion going on at the front gate. A group of tourists were gathered around some placards blocking entry to the site. One was in English; it read ‘site under construction until June 2003’. There was a little picture of the temple with a big bag over it. ‘Sorry for any inconvenience’.

Lots of Love
Simon & Heidixx